Here we are at the end of the week. Almost. The end of my blog week at any rate, and what a lovely week it’s been. Yesterday, after a very satisfactory hour at the piano with my more than satisfactory student, we sat and modelled for two hours; H building a Toyota Something-Flash and me wrestling with the delicate Cutty Sark. I managed to lose a wheel and another thing that goes somewhere in the bow simply by cutting the tiny pieces from the frames only to hear a ping and… Well, that was that. No amount of floor searching with torches and phones could reveal the whereabouts of these two pieces. All our search showed us was how much I need to clean the kitchen floor, which I will do once I have found my wheel and the other thing. If I ever do.
Still, it was a nice way to spend a couple of hours, talking about nothing, occasionally answering questions about colours, wheels and pipes, and whether that should be chrome or matt black, and me mumbling under my breath about having fat fingers and very small pieces of plastic to stick to the boat and not to myself.
I didn’t get out for a walk yesterday, because one can’t have too much fun in one go, but I’ll be going for a wander later today as long as it doesn’t rain. I need to set the next chapter in my head. The next chapter of the current book, not my life or anything; that’s already set. I’m halfway through a third novel in the new series, and because it’s been a bit novelus interruptus it’s been hard to get it back on track, but I’m getting there. I have a new detective searching for a missing (no spoilers) item, which takes him into the world of the West End and East End music halls of the late 19th century, and he’s just about to meet a very famous artiste who originally shared a name with a much loved, but much later, English comedienne. Without giving away the name, I’ll just say, ‘Is it on the trolley?’ You either know it or you don’t.
If you don’t, then I’ll tell you. Marie Lloyd was originally called Matilda Alice Victoria Wood, born in 1870 in Hoxton, not far from where I used to live, and who was a stage star by the age of 15/16 when she called herself Bella Delmere. Her first appearance outside of Hoxton was at the Collins Music Hall in Islington. So, there are a few coincidences to ponder there, one being the name of the series I am writing, ‘The Delamere Files’ and her first stage naming being Delmere, something I only discovered once I’d started writing the book.
None of which has anything to do with Symi, but there you are. Early morning thoughts after a not-so-good sleep, and with another day to look forward to because this afternoon/evening, our godsons are cooking us dinner, and that’s always something to look forward to.
For parish notices, I’ve heard that the weekend boat schedule might be up the waterspout again because of the weather. From the front window I can tell you the new road and water treatment plant plot of land is being worked on, and from my walk the other day, I can tell you the council men have started taking down the Christmas lights from the trees that lean across the village square. That’s about as local as my local news gets, so I’ll wish you a good weekend and carry on pottering.
